


Shame On Me

by Zebooboo



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Identity Issues, Identity Reveal, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-26 04:28:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21368185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zebooboo/pseuds/Zebooboo
Summary: Drifter scrutinises him for a moment and then takes a cautious step forward, "And you're here."Shin's shoulders relaxed, Drifter could see their line smoothing out under his cloak, and nodded. "Bad habits."
Relationships: The Drifter/Shin Malphur
Comments: 6
Kudos: 59





	Shame On Me

**Author's Note:**

> This took almost a month to write and it ate up Nanowrimo time x) I still love it.  
Many thanks and lots of love to DredgenTrust who had the patience to shift through it and fix my mistakes <3

It comes in flashes, after the busy hours usually, when Shin slunk into the Annex like a spectre. Just a flicker of recognition that gets lost in bruising touches and nails tracing familiar lines enticingly. He thought about it later, with sweat cooling on his skin and the chill of the Annex warded off by Shin's smothering Light filling the small back space.

Every time he thought he had it he got distracted and thinking back on that flicker of familiarity just made him feel like an idiot grasping at straws. It was the line of Shin's back underneath his cloaks, because of course the vain bastard has one for everything. Or that little lilt his voice did when he tried to be suave and demanding at the same time and failed miserably. Even when it got Drifter hot under his collar, he'd blame it on the scorching heat rolling off the Hunter crowding him each time.

Drifter was beginning to think that he had a tell. Some minute gesture Shin picked up on when Drifter thought he had a finger hooked around that nagging twitch at the back of his brain and he was getting ready to scratch it. He was onto something, for sure. If it made Shin push to take his mind off this little morsel of knowledge, Drifter had something good. 

Like when Drifter had been chatting up a couple of his regulars after the last match of the day, counting their pay and greasing them up just a bit, and Shin had rounded the corner. 

He didn't notice him, too busy doling out gear and synths, smile stretched across his face even if his feet were killing him and his throat felt itchy from all the howling and crowing from the day's matches. His players hardly noticed, too caught up with their new loot and Drifter's sweet praise in their ears. He ushered them out, trailing after their heels so he could close up and transmat to the Derelict for some shut eye or even go in the back of the Annex. There was that one cloak that Shin had forgotten there, purposefully if Drifter were to guess, that was just perfect for a blanket. Shin couldn't complain about Drifter using his stuff if he just left it lying around. 

He waved off the Guardians and was pulling the gates closed when a glint out of the corner of an eye caught his attention. The sparse lighting shone dully over the scuffed, dark pauldrons and Drifter froze in place, trying to peer through the darkness while his mind fed him memories of jagged armor and whispers trickled into his head. 

Trust was in his hand in a heartbeat, the sudden panic making his blood rush in his ears. He doesn't remember saying anything, but he does remember Shin stepping forward and twisting the hand aiming Trust at him, viper quick, and then swinging Drifter around to march him inside. 

Drifter dug in his heels, trying to headbutt him and getting slammed against the wall for his trouble. A chestplate pushed against his back and the hiss of a helmet unlatching had him tensing even further, for sure waiting for the Shadow to gloat and sneer and then spatter his brain on the brick wall. Then there was a chin digging into his neck and a scarf tickling his ear and Shin whispering mockingly at him, "If you wanted a fight, you could've just asked."

The relief filling his lungs with ragged breaths is palpable, the tension draining straight out of his shoulders. And Shin must have noticed, stepping away and letting Drifter have some space. 

Coming face to face with a dark visage in the shadows had him break out in cold sweat in a way he hadn't in _ decades _. Shin jammed the Trust back down Drifter's sash and stepped to the side and Drifter could imagine the smirk on the bastard's face under that scarf. 

A scathing comment about skulking in the shadows was at the tip of his tongue when the echo of footsteps make him sit up straight again. The Warlock of the group peeked his head around the corner, saying something about hearing strange noises. If Drifter still wasn't feeling the tremble of panic in his knees he would have swept in, thrown an arm over the Warlock's shoulder and sent him on his way. Instead he just chuckled nervously and waved him off, "Nothing for you to worry about, just some Gambit business that needs taking care of." 

The Warlock stalled, looking between Drifter and Shin a couple of times before the gunslinger stepped up and ushered the Warlock past the door, "There's nothing to it, just talk about arena maintenance."

Drifter scoffed at Shin's comment but sighed in relief when the gates closed and Shin pulled down the scarf and Drifter could finally see his face clearly. 

His eyebrows lifted into his headband at the pretty picture Shin made, all dolled up with eye shadow and shiny lips all mucked up from the scarf. What had the man been up to with that kind of getup? Drifter's eyes gave him a once-over, the armor not looking half as menacing in the light of the bank as what he'd imagined in his fright in the dark corridor. Still not exactly Shin's usual style; harsher, more angular. 

Shin paid him little attention, leaning back on the crates on the side and pulling off his scarf with a frown, setting it aside with the helmet. 

Drifter leant against the rails with a scowl, "So you want to talk gambit maintenance, do you." It wasn't a question and Drifter felt miffed enough to want to dig into Shin. 

The Hunter shrugged, pushing his hair, stiff with product and matted from the helmet out of his eyes, "It got him out of the way, didn't it?" 

His eyes roamed over Shin's face, all pretty and disheveled with just a hint of sweat over his temple; he swallowed thickly. "Heh, and what are you doing, slinking around looking like that, think the Shadows will fall for a pretty face?", he could hear the leer in his own voice. 

Shin's eyes flitted over to him, narrowed with something Drifter might call suspicion before the man smirked, impish, "I'm sure you'd know."

Drifter bristled, denial springing up before he could even think about it. "I ain't got nothing to do with them no more!" He wanted to wipe that stupid little smirk off Shin's face so bad right now, grind that pretty face into the dirt. 

"That why you have a gaggle of Dredgens licking your boots?", Shin's mouth fell into something sharper and he got to his feet to stand with a hip cocked to the side. 

A huff left Drifter's lips, an expression just as dangerous settling on his face, amusement peeking through. "Oh you'd know, them's for poking some fun. Tit for tat and all that, ** _Pal_ ** ." The bastard's _ playing _ threatening his players like that! 

A sardonic little chuckle jumped unexpectedly from Shin, who seemed just as surprised to be laughing as Drifter was. He indulged for a few moments before taking advantage of Drifter's owlish staring to close in and trap Drifter between him and the rail. 

Drifter blinked at the colour around the man's eyes, a dark bronze, and the heavy eyeliner that he could only see now that he was close enough their breaths mingled. He was being stared down and Drifter was struck still. 

"I'm still waiting on their confessions you know."

Oh, those were fighting words, quoting that dratted letter the Renegade left for Drifter before he gave up the game and left Drifter behind looking like a sodden fool. Anger and the old pain of getting manipulated had Drifter tightening his fingers around a pale neck with a snarl before he even realised he'd moved, the only thought running through his mind was that _ yes _ , he very much _ did _want a fight.

And getting that infuriating smirk off Shin's face was reward enough. (Even if Shin let him win this one, still felt good.)

By morning the only thing on Drifter's mind was that Shin shouldn't wear so much eyeshadow again. It smudged right away and got all over the Gunslinger's face from tears and sweat. Gave him a fright when he woke up to it that morning. He wasn’t sure if waking up to find Shin there rattled him because it was _ Shin _or because someone decided to stay the night. 

He trailed his fingers over the bruises he left on Shin's throat until the man got bored of pretending to sleep.

\---

The first real clue came in the form of the Thorn on _ the _ Guardian's hip. Came by for Gambit with a sullen face and a chip on their shoulder and Drifter bristled at the sight of that thing. Laid into the kid pretty well. They didn't stick around much afterwards. 

Instead he had a restless and twitchy Shin on his hands for an entire _ week _ , distracted and flighty and sulking in the dark corners of the Annex when he wasn't off planet, doing whatever he did now that he was 'retired'. Made Drifter want to tear his hair out, mostly because having the man hovering constantly over his shoulder made him paranoid and twitchy himself. All too aware of the old pattern Shin had slipped into when he'd just been Drifter's partner, just his _ Pal _. Waiting around for Drifter to give the go-ahead for work and hauls and runs and clearing spaces and taking initiative only when it mattered or only when he felt like sliding his fingers under Drifter's layers. He couldn't get any work done! 

It got to the point where he preferred to close up early and drag Shin to the back with rough hands and biting kisses just so he could have some quiet time afterwards when the man was sleeping, completely drained. 

Of course, that was a hint he had no way of knowing was a hint. At best he thought Shin might issue a warning to the Hero and back off, mostly because the kid seemed much too good to really get Dark. Drifter doubted they even knew the full scope and story of what they held. And really that was as far as it got. 

He needled Shin about it a couple of times to rile him up, which got him slammed into a wall and left choking for breath. Each time he got a hissed warning and Shin stomping off to vent elsewhere. And the kid didn't use Thorn all that much. At least not in Gambit. He saw them pop it out a couple of times, when some invader became annoying or they wanted to send a message to the other team when they invaded instead, but even that was rare. 

The second thing that raised his hackles though was an old radio permanently stuck to a specific, hijacked frequency crackling to life. He'd been minding his own business, alone on the Derelict, Shin having fucked off days ago, tinkering with some old repairs on an older bank and making some new mods when it happened. He'd scrambled across the crate, tripping over gun parts and cans and his own fear making his legs quake. 

It was Vale, speaking over long distance with Bane. The voice was just as Drifter remembered it, scratchy, deep and overlaid with a synthetic quality. Drifter gripped the radio in trembling fingers as he listened in to them planning... what?_ Vacation _?

Drifter scoffed but kept an intent ear as he paced the tiny room, shoving the door open so he could get some air that wasn’t his breath four times over. 

Those bastards would never be gone, they were just getting more clever, more subtle. He’d never be free of them, not really. No matter what Vale said or however much Teben would grovel and bend to please the man. There would always be some poor schmuck that went looking in the wrong places and end up - or get lured into - falling with them. And there would always be Shin at the end of the line to end them. Just like Callum. 

He snapped the knobs clean off turning it off when the Shadows closed the line, Vale's voice echoing in his ears. 

_ "Our work is done for now. Anything else will simply run its course." _

\---

The last hint was less of a hint and more of a blaring, glaring sign that wracked the inside of his head almost daily lately. 

Drifter muzzily wiped the thin blood running down his neck, dropping into the seat in front of the Gambit monitoring set like a pile of bones in a meat sack rather than a human. Matches were done for the day and the Derelict was slowly chugging its way back over the Earth's orbit to the City. It had been an easy day today. Really it had, until the last match rolled around when he brought out the Hive and the whispers came with them. 

They gnawed at him. Every time he heard them it felt like a wicked knife carving up his insides, slipping careless lines behind his eyes and swirling his brain as if it were a boiling pot of thin broth. He pushed his palms into his eyes, willing the jeering tones to just shut up. 

Maybe if he still called himself Dredgen Hope he would have listened. Maybe even appreciated and accepted the whispers and the philosophies of the Hive. The only thing he heard now was how twisted and inhuman they could be. How pitilessly ruthless they made you become for nothing more than a pinch of strength. 

The Dark was a source of power, the same way the Light was. But the Hive were something else altogether. And Drifter had little use for his _ [knife in the shape of hope] _. Hope will just get you killed. 

He spent a few minutes hunched in his seat, dreading having to move and not bearing to sit still for the whispers to eat him alive either. In the end it was a destination update pinging that got him to raise his head from between his knees, blood slowly dripping down his chin. He was already in orbit over the City, when did he get back? 

Ah, no matter. He struggled to his feet, dizzy from blood loss and the constant ache in his head. He should get down to the City. Closer to the Traveler, closer to the Light. Might help buffer the Hive's bullshit stomping around his head. 

Ghost transmatted him down to the landing zone of the Annex and Drifter barely reached the rails before hurling the meager contents of his stomach down the side of the Wall. Thankfully it was late and he had no unwanted audience. 

He spent a few minutes spitting the taste of bile out of his mouth, waiting for the world to right itself and the whispers to be hushed down to mere mumbles, almost as if they were little more than morbid afterthoughts of his own, even disturbing as they were. He waved Ghost away irritably when he lifted his head to find it hovering over his shoulder. 

He wiped a hand over his mouth and started a slow walk to his little hole, and if the echoes of his footsteps seemed to drag out and the shadows in the corners were a tad too deep, he stubbornly paid them no mind. A finger wiggled in his ear to drown out a persistent little voice as he walked into his own doorstep and began to open the gates. 

The creak of the gate rattled in his head and the screech of the voice made him almost go blind. He clutched the gate to hold himself upright, breath turning ragged. Fuck this shit. He grit his teeth and shoved his palm into his eye. 

He panted for a moment and scrubbed a hand over his neck at the fresh blood. He shook his head and blinked up at his bank swirling ominously in the dark. The figure sprawled over the small table took a second to register over the screeches of murder and hasty retreats and revenge. 

Drifter grunted, fumbling with Trust before he could push the voices away and actually hear. The light snores carried easily in the night's quiet, but the Drifter's eyes were glued to the cloak draped over the man. An unsteady step took him closer before he could think about it and another and another, until his fingers were just barely not grazing the fabric. 

His breath hitched, a howling panic rising up his own throat while the screeches crescended in his mind, making his eyes tear and his ears ring. He knew that cloak. He _ knew _ those shoulders and that twist of the back and he _ knew the name that came with them _. 

The intruder moved, pulling his face out of the cover of his arm and slipping back to sleep. Drifter trembled. He knew that unhappy face and there's no way it matched the name he knows. It _ can't _. The voice screamed once more, all treachery and blood, and went silent. 

Drifter was gone before his mind could right itself. The transmat back to the Derelict was hasty, running out of the room, closing up the gate again, going up, locking incoming transmats, all done in a flurry of panic. His fingers trembled while he paced the length of the ship's transmat zone. 

He tried to wrap his head around this itch he’d been dying to scratch and he simply couldn't. He stomped around, eyes wild, trying to form the words to say it out loud, as if hearing it, saying it, would somehow make it more _ real _. Like it would help him swallow it. 

"FUCK!", he kicked away a bag of garbage he forgot to toss out that morning. He let out a scream, frustration and fear and the sinking feeling of dread not lessening in the least. 

Shin fucking Malphur is that Traveler forsaken bastard Dredgen Vale and Drifter has been almost constantly in his presence for _ months _. And even longer while that snake had been masquerading as the Renegade. 

Drifter dropped heavily to the floor and swallowed thickly. He covered his sweating face with trembling hands, "Shin is Vale." He whispered it. 

"Shin is Vale. Shin Malphur is Dredgen Vale. Shin you... MOTHERFUCKER!", his fist banged against the rail. Anger swelled in his chest and for one irrational moment, he thought he knew how Orin felt. Only he hadn't ever thought of killing people Orin trusted or liked. Or even just kept around. Didn't think to pick up a gun and plant a bullet in her head. 

He huddled on the floor, eyes locked on the trailing Haul, mind jumping between his anger, the betrayal seething under his skin like fire and Orin, her back straight as she'd walked away from him. He wondered if he should follow her example, if it was even applicable here. 

A searching hand patted down his holster for Malfeasance's chill, his fingers playing at the handle nervously. He grit his teeth and lets go. What's he supposed to do... 

Hours passed and Drifter hardly moved. His legs and back were frozen and snow began to gather up around him in clumps. 

It would be a while before he remembered the glaring correlation of the Sword Logic and the whispers getting louder. Like called to like, congregating only to cut each other down, become more from it and then step on the corpses to reach for more. 

Now he just knew who it'd been calling out to. 

\---

There wasn't much change in lighting up in space, but the piling messages asking about what happened to the Gambit queue, why he wasn't in his space, why the comm frequency was locked, it told him all he needed to know about the time. 

His 'gaggle of Dredgens' was getting antsy. Drifter clenched his teeth and shot out an announcement calling Gambit off for the day. He had business to attend to. 

Snow crunched under his boots, the cold numbing his face as he walked around his crate. He dropped to his knees and dug into the vines and the frozen dirt. His fingers came up frostbitten and bloody but there was a thrill of excitement when he grazed the handle of a gun. 

It took a moment longer, but Drifter dug out the gun, patting away dirt and mud. It was almost in a haze that he took it inside and cleaned it, near reverent. 

It was part of a different life that he thought he'd put behind him. It had nothing of what he'd been searching for. He'd thought it over; even if the spectres followed him even now, Drifter had little left in common with Dredgen Hope. 

Thorn settled comfortably in his palm the same way the cold anger settled over his shoulders as he transmatted down to the Annex. It was still dawn, at this time the only thing Drifter usually would have to worry about was opening the queue for Gambit so he can sort people into teams and set up matches. But now, he's on a bit of a hunt of his own. 

The door to the Annex was still locked, just like he left it, and with the way Shin had been oblivious to the world hardly four hours ago and how the man indulged in sleeping since he'd dropped back into Drifter's life, he would bet he was still there snoozing away. 

Drifter slipped inside silently. The lump of Hunter on the table is still there. A snarl painted itself on his face. 

Five steps and Drifter levels Thorn against Shin's head. He can see Shin tense under the cloak. 

He taps the muzzle against Shin's head and the man rises up slowly and turns around. Drifter can trace the exact path of the shiver that ran over Shin the moment he saw Thorn in Drifter's hand. 

"Drifter...", the Hunter starts but trails off with a bewildered and pained look. 

A sneer tugs at his mouth, "So, how's Bane?" And if he’d thought Shin was taut as a bowstring, now he was ready to snap. 

Shin swallows and Drifter could nearly see the gears in the man's head turn, his expression morphing from shocked, to tired, to sad, to resigned. At any other time Drifter might have found a scrap of sympathy for the Hunter, but no, not this time.  
  
“Drifter, you don’t know all of it, I-”, a harsh bark of a laugh cut Shin off. Drifter glares at him, and he _ hopes _ Shin can feel the hate bubbling in his belly.  
  
“Oh, I know enough. The whispers have been gnawing at my brain long enough for me to _ get it _ . Been thinking I should remind you of an old, little saying from way back. ‘Fool me once…’, ah, you know how it goes.” The tightening in Shin’s jaw was answer enough. Drifter’s eyes run over the gunslinger’s frame, taking in the tense shoulders, the feet drawn apart, the clenched fists, beautiful little morsels.  
  
“So how did you think this was gonna go Mr. Malpur? How long were you prepared to keep this up? Or were you just waiting for the right moment to shoot me in the back? Not even give me the courtesy you gave our friend Callum and show me your face when you take me out?” A mockery of a smile on his face and the darkening scowl on Shin’s makes the hair stand on the back of his neck.

He knows he shouldn’t drag this out, Drifter damn well knows he shouldn’t play with fire but he can’t resist the urge to dig the knife and _ twist _ . “Guess the Shadows did fall for a pretty face after all. So when’s Bane’s funeral? Or Mire’s? I mean, none of us can get away from The Man With The Golden Gun, when you’re willing to play with the Dark to get to us, might as well get front row seats to everyone’s reckonings!” Drifter laughs, a hint of hysteria cracking through. He's digging his own damn grave, he knows that, but the bitterness has finally broken the dam.  
  
“...no, none of you are dying. Not by me.”  
  
Drifter comes back to himself like icy water was poured down his back. “What’re you saying Malphur, you gone soft? Sparing your own targets?”

His grip on Thorn readjusts, fixing his aim back at Shin’s head. Shin shifts into a less guarded stance, his shoulders almost sagging and Drifter is struck with just how _ tired _ the man suddenly looks.

“There was no playing with the Dark, Drifter. Searching for an answer to Yor’s madness and a new way to protect humanity is no reason to call for a final end. None of you were ever targets. Those that tempted the Dark for more than they could take were always the reason I kept on the Hunt. Callum was a necessary sacrifice, a plan to lure the radicals out to the open and weed them out.”

Drifter’s breath hitched and sweat runs down his neck, Shin looks him in the eye and doesn't falter for a single moment. The thought that he might actually be serious flashes in his head and Drifter doesn't want to entertain it for a second.

"You've gone crazy. Or just spouting out whatever you think will make me not put a bullet in your head. There's no way you-" 

"I gave the Guardian the Thorn, the same way I gave them the Last Word. People like them are the reason humanity might have a chance in the future, to fight back!" 

Drifter takes a step back, gun lowering, mortified and wary at the sudden enthusiasm. Was he having a fever dream? Has he fallen asleep in the middle of the transmat pads and got buried under the snow and now he was seeing things before dying of hypothermia? 

"The people playing Gambit, your Dredgens, they're going to be the ones to pull through, more than anyone else-" 

Drifter blinks, still confused about whether this was a dream or not, because everything Shin is spouting makes little sense to his ears. 

"Back up, _ you _gave the Guardian Thorn?! What, are you crazy? They just came back from blazing the Shore to the ground from grief alone! If they'd gone off the deep end with that thing we'd all be toast!", he jabs at Shin with Thorn, actually aiming the thing forgotten entirely in favour of trying to make sense of this crazy talk. 

"And first you threaten my players and now you're saying they are our _ salvation _?” His voice cracked at the end, pitch climbing to something shrill. Shin is still looking back at him with a determined glint in his eyes and Drifter starts to feel intimidated despite himself.

"Not always, there's always those who believe themselves better, stronger and only ever succumb to the call. Those we have to know and put down. But they can be, the ones who know their own limits, the ones who can tread the line between, they are stronger for it. Gambit is one way for them to learn. This is why you do this! The Light isn't always the answer, you know that better than most."

Drifter listened with only half an ear, collapsing against the rails, Thorn dropping from his lax fingers. What was he even doing. What had he expected, walking into this confrontation? Certainly not to feel as drained and dumbstruck as he is right now. Maybe planting a Light eating bullet between Shin Malphur's eyes. Quite possibly some words exchanged about how the Light would always find a way, how Shin's work and his Hunt would be carried on even after his death.  
  
More likely was Drifter ending up a spattering of ashes on his floor, Shin putting a stop to him, either in self defence or to prevent Drifter from sounding an alarm to his crew or even from getting in touch with the Shadows about the wolf in their midst. Big fat chance of _ that _ happening.

Only now he was learning that, no, Shin wasn't _ playing _ at being a Dredgen. The psycho _ was _ a Dredgen. And Drifter and his Gambit had been just another pawn in his game. He tucked his head between his knees and breathed slowly. 

“Drifter this-”, he held up a hand to stop Shin from continuing without looking up. Silence stretched between them, heavy and cloying and Drifter felt it clinging to his throat. He wet his lips, nervous. 

“If you’re not killing me, get the hell out of my sight Malphur.”  
  
He heard Shin inhale sharply, as if to say something, then more silence.  
  
Shin walked out.

\---

  
  
To say that the next couple of months after that incident at the Annex, passed smoothly for Drifter would be a complete and utter lie. Gambit was suddenly at an all time low, all thanks to Emperor Calus making the Leviathan the next best thing to an amusement park for Guardians. 

Drifter would have been impressed, really, he should have been writing down tips but he was busy jumping at shadows. Literal and personified. 

Shin had done exactly what Drifter asked him to. He walked out and Drifter's neither seen nor heard anything about him or the rest of the Shadows. The hijacked frequency that he’d been monitoring for years disappeared a couple of weeks after Shin walked out of the Annex and none of his associates had any information to offer him on them. 

It set him on edge worse than when he’d had Shin lurking in the background like a gargoyle. Even if the grating of bones diminished and died in his head, all shriveled and starved. He disregarded the loneliness of those times where he looked at the back of the Annex to share a throwaway comment about something or other, only to find the place empty.  
  
And then the Guardian came back around for Gambit. It started out as per usual, they picked their bounties, gave Drifter a customary once over and popped into the queue. Little bit later he fired up their match. It was going well, teams tearing into the initial batch of enemies, nothing too exciting. And he paused abruptly in his commentary when he switched screens and they held...something in their hand.  
  
It wasn’t Thorn and he was glad for it. After Shin left, even touching his own Thorn made him feel wretched and disgusting. It had taken him the rest of that day but he’d dismantled it, scattered it, destroyed the rest. He didn’t even know why he’d kept it in the first place. But it felt like its job was done. He’d brought it out for _ Vale _ and whatever perceived threat Drifter thought he was. It had no use now.  
  
But that gun in the hands of the Guardian, as much as it sounded paradoxical (it’s a fucking _ gun _) was comforting. It was more beautiful than any gun had business being, and in their hands seemed to burn bright, their very Light shining like a halo.

He’d kept commentary to a minimum, constantly distracted during the match. The pinched look on the Guardian’s face when they came by after the match to collect their pay was what shook him out of his stupor.  
  
It was near identical to the pensive veil they had back when they’d been gifted Thorn and Drifter was instantly wary. He wanted to drag them in the back, question them about Shin, they _ had _ to have heard from him, and the more he thought about it the more obvious it seemed to Drifter that Shin had slipped his fingers into the Guardian’s head again.  
  
Drifter was going to shoot the man next time he saw him. The bastard would turn up eventually.

  
\---

To be fair, the name Shin used to register in the queue _ would _ have rung warning bells, but since Drifter joined the Shadows a long time after they had established themselves, the name lacked any connotations. The same way it meant absolutely nothing to the other players, since there were no reactions that Drifter noticed.

And so Zyre Orsa became just another new name in Drifter’s Gambit that needed to be matched with people who knew what they were doing and then find an opposing team of measure. Simple enough after waiting for the masses to start piling in.  
  
It was just any other day with Gambit; matches, lots of motes and the Guardians running around popping heads. Nothing got to Drifter more than watching a team struggle the entire match and then claw their way to victory by the skin of their teeth. He cheered the loudest for them.  
  
He had them paid and raring to go for more before they’d even managed to clean the blood and grime off their armor. Most of them at least, there were a few leavers throwing excuses back to their friends as they transmatted away. Drifter chuckled and set the remaining ones back in the queue. There were a few lone wolves he could plug up the holes in the teams with.  
  
A few messages and in a matter of minutes he had two match ready teams ready to drop into the arena. He watched amused as the teams went about taunting each other, a couple dancers, some checking out their guns all too casually, that one guy in the back pulling out a holo-chair and sitting on it backwards. He never really ‘got’ Guardians and their competitive nature, but he sure could get them all riled up.

“Lots of things the Hive did us wrong, how about you do the same for 'em?”

That got a couple chuckles out of them before the timer hit zero. He narrowed his eyes at the transmat glare and then he was standing alone on the platform. His eyes were glued to one pad, brows furrowing. He could swear one of the players had been staring at him the entire time but he had no time for it now. 

He started with dropping encouraging words on both team comms before cycling into a couple of private channels as well. Those invaders always got him better results with a little bit of prodding. 

Blue team banked first, opening their invasion portal quickly. The invader slipped through and Drifter felt the excitement in his belly. Two down and almost twenty motes lost on red team and he hollereds into the mic.

A grin broke out on his face when the blue invader jumped into the portal a second time, all too eager to go hunting. A few seconds passed with Drifter clinging to his seat anxiously, then the invader shot; one down. Drifter hooted triumphantly. 

This match had the possibility to clear up quickly if they kept this rate. If red team kept losing motes and wasting time clearing the blockers then they were gonna lose bank and get wiped by the invader. Drifter grins wryly;, less motes but more entertainment, he gets his due anyway. 

He focused back on the screen, still fifteen seconds on the clock. If the invader could get a clear shot then… 

A cold snap punched him in the gut at the sound feed. The grin drops immediately from his face and Drifter does his best to zoom in on the dead invader. 

His curse hissed through his teeth at the wicked nail poking from the destroyed helmet. The Guardian standing over the corpse was casually reloading the Thorn. It was most definitely not the Guardian and not most the Shadows, on account that most of them were dead and not _ Hunters _. 

Drifter shakily announced the invader dead a few seconds too late and switched on the AI to handle the bulk of the work. He really wanted to shoot Shin in the throat and trail his corpse behind the Derelict. There was no way it's somebody else. 

He watched the Hunter like a hawk for the rest of the game. The echo of the Thorn shooting called at the scraping bones in the recesses of Drifter's mind and he tapped fingers at his ears superstitiously. 

The Hunter killed the invader two more times before they could get even one kill. Red team scrounged enough motes to pull a primeval first by some kind of miracle and their neglected portal saw the Hunter swallowed up the moment they cleared out the Envoys. 

He switched channels, called in the invasion himself. Not five seconds in a Golden Gun planted blazing bullets into three of the enemy team's heads. The primeval lapped up the deaths like a five course meal. The Hunter was running towards the spawn point, eager to pick them all off again, when the time ended and Drifter yelled half-heartedly into the mic, turning it into a taunt for the rest of the team to follow that example. 

Red team killed their primeval first and Drifter sweated nervously even while the anger seethed beneath his skin as he went to hark at them. He didn’t let himself look at Shin, glaring ahead stubbornly. He nagged with a wry smile at the blue team, fully knowing there was no chance they were going to win.

\--- 

The second round goes much faster than the first. Red team wins. He brings everyone back in to pay them and send them on their way. He can feel Shin staring at him the entire time. 

Once the last player leaves Drifter whirls around to point an accusatory finger at Shin. 

"You done trying to prove something here Malphur? You done jerking me around?" 

Shin just crosses his arms and finally (_ finally) _ looks away. If Drifter were to guess based on what he remembered from the Renegade, Shin was actually feeling uncomfortable. Good.

Silence stretched between them for a few long minutes and Drifter could feel the hair on his neck stand on end. He twitches when Shin unlatched the helmet and transmatted it away. He looks...tired. More tired than he did a couple months ago and Drifter smothers the concern that wells up before anything could show on his face.

“So? Got anything to say? And don’t start again about the Light and the Dark spiel, I ain't Bane.”  
  
Shin narrows his eyes at him and takes a step forward. Drifter tenses, settles his hand on Malfeasance’s handle. Shin’s eyes dart down to it and then back to Drifter’s face.

“You left.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“When Callum splintered off to lure the worst of us away, sow the fear of the Man with the Golden Gun into them and let them all make their own choices. You left.”  
  
Drifter scoffs, of course he’d left. He’d seen enough from the Shadows and beyond them to know nothing good would come from a group like them getting divided. He’d followed Callum to satisfy his curiosity and he’d bailed on the first couple of hours. And he’d been right. Shin killed them all. And those who’d left with him, Drifter had killed himself. Not for the same reasons, but they died nonetheless.

“And what’s that got to do with anything? Callum wanted us to embrace the Darkness fully. That’s crazy! Ain’t nobody that can keep their mind when taking a deep dive like that. You don’t _ indulge _ the Dark, you _ use _ it. You understand it and that’s it! It’s a resource, same as the Light.”  
  
Drifter was shouting by the end and he could see Shin’s smile getting bigger by the second. There was something in his eyes Drifter didn't want to figure out. It looked too close to fondness and he dreaded it.  
  
“But you didn’t come back to the rest.”  
  
“For what? To get shot in the head? Nah, I had other things to worry about.” The cold still bites at Drifter, even after well over a year.

“What’s it to you anyway? You got your use out of me and my Gambit already. _ Twice over. _ Don’t you have some other con to pull off?”, he still felt the knife of betrayal twist in his belly.  
  
Shin’s smile falls and he shakes his head, “I don’t know how much the Guardian has told you or how much you’ve learned on your own, but it’s over. Not just the hunt, my con everything. Passed on, it’s out of my hands now. The only thing I have left to me are some legends." The Hunter chuckles wryly, "And some bad habits."

Drifter narrows his eyes, "You gave the Guardian everything, didn't you."

"I did."

"You think they’re gonna keep playing your game?" 

"It's their decision, though I don't believe they will follow my path." 

"The Shadows? You really had them all scatter and go dark?"

Shin sighs, "We've done what we could. Whatever research and work needs to be done, we'll do ourselves. No more Dredgens. That part belongs to the Guardian. And you." Shin motions at Drifter with a smirk and Drifter snorts, disbelieving. 

Drifter scrutinises him for a moment and then takes a cautious step forward, "And you're here."

Shin's shoulders relaxed, Drifter could see their line smoothing out under his cloak, and nodded. "Bad habits." 

A few tense seconds passed before Drifter's hand lifted from Malfeasance. A smile crept at the corners of Shin's mouth, hopeful. Drifter answers with a toothy grin. 

"You know, I'd planned to shoot you when you next showed." Shin's brow rose at Drifter's almost playful tone. "But I think by now you owe me a coupl'a big favours, might let you hang 'round."

Shin started closing the distance between them, climbing up the stairs to Drifter's platform with a smirk. "Don't remember hanging around being all that bad." 

Drifter leans a hip on the rail, not all that relaxed, but getting there. "Gonna hafta put you to work then, Pal."

Shin settles a hand on the rail next to his hip, the heat rolling off the Hunter warming the air between them. "Same as usual then." That infuriating smirk curls on Shin's lips, makes Drifter want to bite it off him. 

Drifter turns to look back at Shin's eyes, bright and soft and his toothy grin returns. "Same as usual." He snakes fingers around Shin's neck to pull him in. 

And it seems like Shin was right, this was a bad habit. But who's to say Drifter has to stop? 

There was no saving humanity, not this time around. The first Collapse was survived. Barely, in some cases, or not at all when taking the Dark Ages into account. The second one will wipe _ everything _, Drifter has no delusions about humanity surviving anything like that again, no matter the cockroach nature they have. 

All Drifter wants is to survive. Maybe taking a couple of people with him wouldn’t be so bad. 

Drifter bites down and swallows up Shin's groan, the man's hands circling Drifter's waist. 

No, it wouldn't be bad at all. 


End file.
